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Beauty written on her face
Perfect sits on scarlet lips
Elegance in every pace
Flawlessness in every glimpse

Temptation etched into her skin
Amazement dances in her eyes
But deception fills her grin
She's disaster in disguise
 Jan 2014 Kasandra Cook
The Noose
I have resented you for many lifetimes


Your smile
Irradiated my darkened room
Filled the vacuum
In abundance
  
Your presence was an impermanent antidote
To this..... state

You were just a mere mortal
With this unfathomable effect on me  

I have resented you for many lifetimes
The way you took permanent residence in my heart
The way you carved your name into my bones
The way you departed... this life
To leave me... like so


Perpetually chasing your ghost

Until I become one.
 Mar 2013 Kasandra Cook
Anais Nin
"Why one writes is a question I can never answer easily, having so often asked it of myself. I believe one writes because one has to create a world in which one can live. I could not live in any of the worlds offered to me – the world of my parents, the world of war, the world of politics. I had to create a world of my own, like a climate, a country, an atmosphere in which I could breathe, reign, and recreate myself when destroyed by living. That, I believe, is the reason for every work of art.
...
"We also write to heighten our own awareness of life. We write to lure and enchant and console others. We write to serenade our lovers. We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospection. We write, like Proust, to render all of it eternal, and to persuade ourselves that it is eternal. We write to be able to transcend our life, to reach beyond it. We write to teach ourselves to speak with others, to record the journey into the labyrinth. We write to expand our world when we feel strangled, or constricted, or lonely … When I don’t write, feel my world shrinking. I feel I am in prison. I feel I lose my fire and my color. It should be a necessity, as the sea needs to heave, and I call it breathing."
('The New Woman', 1974)
It was many and many a year ago,
  In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
  By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
  Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
  In this kingdom by the sea:
But we loved with a love that was more than love—
  I and my ANNABEL LEE;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
  Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
  In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
  My beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
So that her highborn kinsmen came
  And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
  In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
  Went envying her and me—
Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,
  In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
  Chilling and killing my ANNABEL LEE.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
  Of those who were older than we—
  Of many far wiser than we—
And neither the angels in heaven above,
  Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
  Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
  Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
And the stars never rise but I see the bright eyes
  Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride,
  In her sepulchre there by the sea—
  In her tomb by the side of the sea.
I walk the world with thoughts of you
In every place I go
Your voice is on the winter wind
Your footprints in the snow
And every tool I try to use to scrape you from my mind
Cuts your name onto my tongue
And beats me till I'm blind
I layed my head upon your knees and breathed the air you breathed
I cut myself when you were cut to know just how you bleed
Now as I walk this empty earth with nothing but a face
To breathe me and to bleed me
Until I leave this place
the purple insect
shivers on a wet mushroom
morning sun will rise


cicada thunder
my summer evening dream song
give me the black moon
My wife and I created haikus with refrigerator magnets while making pasta.
 Feb 2013 Kasandra Cook
M R L
If I were to write a poem tonight,

Would it be about the drink growing warm in my hand, or
The cigarette I'll surely be smoking soon?
Would it be a about the day's labor and ...
Unfulfillment?

Could I write about a niece's laughter and value
Beyond money, beyond time,
In concert with the antics of a duck and a bear?
A laughing child,

Who's eyes are tumultuous seas of frustration
And pride, concealing the machinery of wisdom
Behind a simple facade; her nose
Is running, but

Is an act of kindness,
(wiping a 2 year old's nose) a poem?
There is discomfort and confusion, there is
Struggle and pain giving way

To trust, to care and to love.
And she smiles, and she says,
"Thank you," and forgets for a moment,
And asks for her bottle.

And if I were to write a poem tonight ...
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